“even the average speerly was not half as powerful as altan is,” said chaghan. “have you ever asked yourself why altan alone among speerlies survived? why he was allowed to live when the rest of his kin were burned and dismembered?”
“your patriotism is a farce. you dress up your crusade with moral arguments, when in truth you would let millions die if it means you get your so-called justice. that’s what will happen if you open the chuluu korikh, you know,” said jiang.
“it’s exactly like a prayer. all prayer is simply repetition — an imposition of your demands upon the gods. the difference between shamans and everyone else is that our prayers actually work. didn’t jiang teach you this?”
“you know the worst part? we’re so close to home. to speer. we’re right by the sea. i could see the constellations. every night. i saw the star of the phoenix and thought that if i could just slip away, i could swim and keep swimming and find my way back home.”
he was crippled by those years spent in captivity. he did not choose his anger freely; it was inflicted on him, blow after blow, torture after torture, until he reacted precisely the way an injured wolf might, rising up to bite the hand that hit him.
this time she couldn’t stop herself from looking. at first it only had altan’s face, and then it was altan, lying sprawled on the ground, blood dripping from his temple. it had altan’s eyes. it had altan’s scar.
“no one can lead that army.” chaghan let go of altan’s collar. “those people in the mountain are not like you. they’re not like suni. you can’t control them, and you’re not going to try. i won’t let you.”
“since childhood, he’s been regarded as a militia asset. your masters at the academy fed him opium for attacking his classmates and trained him like a dog for this war.”
how could she harm him now? he looked so happy. so free from pain. she knew so much more about him now, she knew what he had suffered, and she couldn’t touch him. not like this.
“nice work, kid,” altan said. ramsa gave a hoot of victory. altan clapped him on the shoulder, and ramsa beamed widely. rin could read it clearly on ramsa’s face: he adored altan like an older brother.
while the federation soldiers flailed and reeled away, he flashed his trident out and out again, eliciting blood and silencing cries each time. they clambered and fell before him like worshippers. he cut them down like reeds.
“this is why we are strong. we draw our strength from centuries and centuries of unforgotten injustices. our task — our very reason for being — is to make those deaths mean something. after us, there will be no speer. only a memory.”
“your empress gave you up, you and your precious band of shamans. you were sold, my dear speerlies, just like speer was sold. just like your empire was sold.”